Page 112 of What Happens at Nightfall

“Not now, Cal!”

Belfagor growled something and Ben turned to the bank of candles, picking up something and lifting it high over his head.

A knife. He was holding a knife.

Adam flung himself forward, but the space in front of him was suddenly filled with thorns, a mesh of rose canes spiked with poisoned tips, bearing black roses that exuded the scent of despair. He wrapped the sleeves of his fleece around his palms and yanked at the brambles, but as he touched them, they turned to snakes, a hundred venomous forked tongues darting and hissing at him.

Adam gave a surprised shout and instinctively fell back, over the threshold. Inside the mausoleum, he could hear Belfagor laughing.

“Give me that,” he heard Jess say, and then she was holding Ingrid’s parasol as she had the other time, pointing it at the snakes, commanding, “Begone! Go away! Shoo!”

Light shot out of the parasol, wobbly and uncertain. The snakes turned to petals, drifting lightly on the breeze.

Behind them, the crowd applauded.

Cal sneezed as a petal landed on his nose.

“Don’t let go of the door!” snapped Jess, adjusting her grip on the parasol.

“Ben!” Adam called desperately. His son stood there, like a stylized figure on an Egyptian tomb, holding a knife above his own head. He didn’t seem to hear Adam. He didn’t so much as blink. “Ben!”

Colored light burst from the stained glass window at the back of the tomb. The image of Cornelia Vanderwilt detached herself from her window, translucent and angular.

Behind Adam, the crowd oohed. “These special effects are so much better than last year,” someone said, “but the skit is kind of lame.”

Cornelia’s glass lips moved, cracking with frustration. “You didn’t listen. You didn’t use the key. I gave you the key.”

“Wait, do you mean this key?” Adam fumbled in his pocket, holding it aloft. “I have it! Tell me what to do!”

The movement of the glass was terrible to watch. “It’s too late for that now.”

“You heard the lady. It’s too late.” Belfagor swelled, his horned head brushing the vaulted ceiling. He loomed over Ben, his voice slimily ingratiating. “You want to see your mother, don’t you? You know what to do.”

“The garland, Jacinta.” Every word from Cornelia’s lips was like listening to glass grinding against itself. It hurt to hear. “Use the garland.”

“Quiet, hag!” snapped Belfagor. He muttered something, a word in a language Adam didn’t understand, and the glass exploded, a million colored shards glittering in the air and raining down on the stone flags of the floor.

“Shit,” said Cal. “That window was priceless.”

“What garland?” demanded Jess, but Cornelia was no longer there to answer.

“Nothing! There is no garland,” growled Belfagor. A wild wind swirled as he rose and whirled in a circle. “You want to see? Fine! Witness! Witness the triumph of Belfagor arcidiavolo!”

Something shoved into Adam’s back, hard, and he fell forward. Something landed on top of him. Jess. He heard a crunching sound as Cal cursed. “Those were my glasses!” And above it all, the terrible clang of the copper door banging shut behind them, sealing them into the crypt with the demon. And Ben.

“Seriously?” Adam heard someone saying outside. “That’s how they’re ending it?”

“Now, boy,” rasped Belfagor, triumph clear in his voice. “Now. Say the words as I taught you. It’s time to join your ancestors.”

A terrible light illuminated the interior of the crypt, making the names of the dead on the wall burn in letters of flame.

“No!” Adam flung himself forward but it was like hitting reinforced glass. There was only a yard separating him from Ben, but it might have been miles. Adam banged desperately on the invisible barrier. “Don’t! Don’t say it! Don’t say anything! Ben—whatever he told you, whatever he promised you—it’s lies. He’s a demon. He’s trying to steal your soul.”

Jess waved the parasol in Ben’s general direction. “Let us in! Open Sesame?”

Belfagor made a contemptuous gesture with one arm. Jess cried out in pain. Jet beads bounced freely against the stone as Jess dropped what had once been Ingrid’s parasol but was now just a scorched, twisted wreck.

“Hey!” exclaimed Ingrid. “I paid forty bucks for that on Etsy!”